


The Angel's Muse

by Castileigh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fashion Designer Aziraphale, Good Omens AU, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Rating will change, Sassy Aziraphale (Good Omens), alternative universe, model Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-03 07:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castileigh/pseuds/Castileigh
Summary: A Good Omens fashion world AU that no-one asked for! Aziraphale is HVN's newest designer and Crowley is their most promising model.Even though fashion week is just around the corner and Aziraphale should be focusing all his attention on proving he belongs in HVN, he keeps getting distracted by a certain flame-haired model who makes him what to break the rules.Even though Crowley knows he always falls too hard and too fast, he can't help finding ways to bump into the new designer who is so different from everyone Crowley has ever known.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea where this came from but it's here now. I know almost nothing about fashion houses and even less about fashion week but my brain insisted on this AU so hopefully i didn't butcher it too badly. 
> 
> It's unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> The rating will go up in later chapters.

Aziraphale looked up nervously at the fancy multi story building in front of him. It was an architectural masterpiece composed of large glass windows with unusual sloping roofs and ledges. Where there was wall exposed it was raw face brick and the words “HVN House of Fashion” was displayed in bold metal letters above the entrance.

“Just relax,” the blond haired man told himself sternly when his body refused to move forward. “They wouldn’t have hired you if they thought you didn't belong here. Now just walk inside like you belong there.”

Before he had the chance to think more about it, Aziraphale straightened his bowtie and strode into the building. Just like two weeks ago when he’d come in for the interview he was greeted by the motherly looking woman sitting at the reception desk who's name tag declared her to be Deirdre Young. Deirdre smiled and gave him a thumbs up when Aziraphale used his new employee card to scan himself through the security gate.

She covered the microphone by her mouth, “Have a wonderful first day!!”

Aziraphale felt considerably more confident after that and even managed to stay calm when his lift opened to reveal the “Idea Level” which was where he would be doing most of his work. The room was spacious and open plan. The floor to ceiling windows showed the stunning London skyline and instead of the cubicles Aziraphale had grown accustomed to in his previous jobs there were large oval tables designated to each resident designer. Each one was equipped with a sleek touch screen computer but everything else on them seemed to be organised chaos in varying states.

Aziraphale loved it already. He was busy looking for desk five, which was apparently his, when a small red-haired woman trapped him in a tight hug.

“Madam Tracey,” He wheezed patting her on the back. “Can’t breathe my dear.”

Tracey finally let him go and grinned up at him happily. “I told Shadwell that you’d get the job. He didn’t believe me but I said; ‘Shadwell dearest, that lovely man was made to work here.’ I’m never wrong about those sorts of things and here you are! And even better news, your desk is right next to mine.”

“How lovely,” Ariraphale agreed meekly as Madam Tracey dragged him by the hand across the room. In all honesty though, he was glad to be near the one person from HVN that he actually sort of knew even if it was just from helping her carry boxes of fabric when he was here for his interview. Tracey’s presence was definitely easing the bubble of anxiety that Aziraphale had been feeling all morning.

“This is you.” Tracey said, tapping a clean table before sitting down at her own desk just a few feet away.

There were two more desks close by, messy but unoccupied, so Aziraphale assumed they belonged to Sandalphon and Uriel who were his fellow designers along with Tracey. The four of them would be working under Gabriel, who was an esteemed designer and HVN’s creative director.

“They’ll be back in a bit,” Tracey told him, noticing where he was looking. “Today we get the go ahead to start on the Spring/Summer collections. They're all upstairs eagerly awaiting our guidelines.”

“Why aren’t you up there?”

“Someone had to settle in our newest recruit,” Madam Tracey grinned. “Your predecessor had a breakdown three days into the job and ran away so I’ve been instructed to make your well being a priority. We can’t lose more people so close to fashion week.”

“Oh dear, I do hope they’re alright, wherever they are. You don’t have to worry about me though, I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale assured her. “This is any designers dream job, everything is perfectly lovely.”

Tracey snorted, “Keep up the positive attitude sunshine, you’ll need it.”

Aziraphale primly chose to ignore the comment and started unpacking all his sketch books and drawing tools. “So, any predictions for the new collections guidelines?”

Tracey tugged on her hair thoughtfully, “Skin exposed. Lots of it.”

“Lots? Dear me, it doesn’t sound like we’ll have much work to do,” Aziraphale joked.

Tracey hummed in agreement, missing the joke, “I’m thinking ass-less chaps, sheer fabrics, dramatic cutouts etcetera.”

Aziraphale felt his face flush, this new job was going to be very different from the mens suits he’d been making the past few years.

“You could definitely pull off the chaps,” Tracey continued. “I’ve noticed before, you have a lovely bottom.”

“Th-thank you,” He stammered and shuffled some papers, hoping his ears weren't as red as they felt.

“Play time is over!” Aziraphale jumped at the loud voice behind him and turned to see Gabriel smiling broadly at him. “Aziraphale! Glad to see you’re ready for the chaos that is this company. These two are your new bestfriends.” He gestured towards the two people beside him. “Sandalphon and Uriel, this is Aziraphale, our newest HVN recruit.”

The darker skinned designer, Uriel shook Aziraphales hand with a small nod, “Welcome to the family.”

Sandalphon gave Aziraphale a mildly unnerving smile and started paging through the binder in his hands. Tracey rolled her eyes at his back and Aziraphale felt a bit better.

Gabriel rubbed his hands together excitedly, “Now lets talk fashion.”

Tracey’s predictions of sheer fabric came true when Gabriel confirmed that it was on their list of materials. Any raincoats designed should also be see through which Aziraphale thought was brave. Colours were to be bold or pastel and feathers and fringe were in. Gabriel instructed them to use floral sparingly since he wasn’t a fan although they had been told to use it by the higher ups. Pink? Yes. Yellow? Yes. Check patterns and shiny fabrics? Yes and yes.

“And remember team, I want to see shoulders!” Gabriel added as his designers separated to their tables to begin sketching.

Aziraphale was responsible for coming up with a few concepts for HVN’s street wear line. He was little disappointed that he couldn't stretch into evening wear since it was his favourite area to show off in. Nevertheless he started his first sketch with enthusiasm, revelling in the numerous ideas that kept bursting into life inside his skull.

An hour or so later a young man came bustling to their table. He was tall and awkward with brown brown hair and a happy smile.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, looking over Aziraphales shoulder at his sketches. “Those are really cool.”

Aziraphale flushed proudly, “Thank you.”

“Newton.” Came Gabriels voice in warning.

Newton straightened quickly, “Right, sorry. No more lurking I promise. Hit me with your coffee orders.”

Aziraphale didn’t know how Newton understood the multiple orders that were sent his way but he took it in his stride, scribbling down on a notepad and nodding like their words made sense. Finally only Aziraphale needed to order.

“Uh, tea? Two sugars and a dash of milk would be lovely.”

Newton looked disappointed, “One boring tea for the man with such exciting designs, got it.” He walked away looking upset.

Aziraphale looked at Tracey, bewildered.

“Newt is an intern here,” She explained. “He’s not really good at anything but he is very proud of his coffee making skills. Since he’s worked here we don’t order from Starbucks anymore and HVN even bought all those fancy coffee makers you see in the movies for him to use.”

Aziraphale smiled, impressed. “Well no one can say HVN doesn't reward its employees for good work.”

Madam Tracey hummed in agreement and went back to her sketching.

Aziraphale’s first morning at work seemed to fly by. Newt had returned not long after taking their orders, laden with trays of coffee. He had not said a word to Aziraphale, only sending him a reproachful look as he put a mug down in front of him. Tracey had just sent a knowing wink his way and returned to sketching, sipping on her own whipped cream monstrosity.

Lunch was delightful and Aziraphale felt like he was glowing with happiness as he made his way to the fabric and pattern design rooms. This side of the HVN building was, if possible, more chaotic that the side he had just come from.

Due to the open plan nature of the building, Aziraphale got the pleasure of seeing all sorts of wonderful things happening. In one area a man with a funny coat and strong scottish accent was overseeing the construction of a fantasy forest with twinkling lights Aziraphale assumed was for a photoshoot. Racks of clothes were being pushed in every direction and people scurried around with piles of books higher than their heads. There were absolutely no signs to point him in the direction he needed to go.

Aziraphale must have looked as stunned as he felt because a kind looking woman seemed to take pity on him and came over to shake his hand.

“Mary Loquacious, head seamstress.” She introduced herself. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Aziraphale. I’m new.” He added although Mary could probably have guessed as much. “Everything is just so amazing,” He told her, beaming as he looked around at the chaos. “Although I do actually have a reason for being here, I’m looking for a lady called Agnes Nutter? I’m supposed to get fabric samples from her.”

“If you're happy to wait a few minutes I can take you to her myself,” Mary offered helpfully. “I just have one more adjustment to do and then I'm free.”

“Oh could you? That would be very kind.”

With a promise to return soon, Mary left Aziraphale to watch the shoot being set up. Bright Lights had been erected and a young woman with long brown hair was fiddling with a camera while muttering to herself.

Aziraphale’s attention was pulled to the models. He definitely recognised some of them although he didn't know their names or anything. One did get so terribly behind in the main fashion world when working as a mens suit tailor. There were two people moving back and forth around the models, applying make-up and fixing hair. The people themselves were quite a sight to behold, one with flaming red hair and dramatic make-up and the other with hair whiter than Aziraphale’s own and eyes that looked to be the same shade.

He was so preoccupied trying to get another look at their eyes that it took a while to realise that another pair had been watching him. The eyes, a strange yellow gold colour, belonged to a lanky man sprawled in an armchair who was currently studying Aziraphale intently. The man was a lovely specimen indeed, all tight clothes, long legs and artfully styled flame-red hair. When he met Aziraphales gaze he raised an eyebrow and his mouth quirked into a small smile. Well, it was less a smile and more of a smirk. Aziraphale blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring even though the other man had started it.

“Ready to go then?” Mary Loquacious was suddenly back at his side.

Aziraphale hoped his surprised squeak hadn't been audible, “Yes, quite ready!”

“Come with me then,” She headed in the opposite direction of the photoshoot. “His name is Crowley by the way. That model you were looking at.”

Her voice had been quite neutral but Aziraphale found himself stuttering nonsense by way of an explanation anyway.

Aziraphale did risk one look back over his shoulder towards the shoot and he immediately found who he was looking for. The red headed man was now wearing a pair of dark glasses but still very definitely watching Aziraphale, a small frown on his face.

_Crowley._

* * *

Crowley irritably yanked his body to face forwards when he realised that he had, once again, been staring expectantly at the place where he had seen the angelic looking man disappear from view.

_Stupid_, he reprimanded himself. The man was hardly going to miraculously reappear and Crowley should stop tempting whiplash by checking. It had been nearly two hours and five outfit changes since then anyway. Crowley was now standing relatively motionless in the middle of the set while the lights were adjusted to accommodate the added height from the platform boots he’d put on with his latest outfit.

Did that man work here? With that bowtie? Surely not. Besides, he had looked around the room in awe, mesmerised by the things that Crowley by now considered mundane. Crowley spared the set decoration a glance. The trees where some kind of hastily done glue and paper construction and nearly every third fairy light wasn't working. There were scuffed tape markers on the floor and the smoke machines were starting to make him feel vaguely nauseous. He couldn't see a single thing that might have garnered such an enraptured expression from the mystery man.

The man himself however, Crowley had found him infinitely more fascinating. He’d stood like a spot of light in the room with his cream and beige clothes, bizarre bowtie and blond candy floss hair. He had looked so pure, so angelic, that Crowley had had to fight down the urge to _protect_ him. Crowley rolled his eyes internally. Protect him from what exactly? The big bad wolf that is the fashion industry? Stupid. The man probably didn't even work here anyway. And since when did Crowley want to protect anyone?

_Lust. That’s all this is_, he told himself sternly. Crowley had been surrounded by the same type of people for so long that his brain was just fixated on the first person to walk through here looking out of the ordinary. He felt relieved, lust was much easier to handle.

The man had not been short of curves. Crowley wanted to run his hands over them, up his deliciously thick thighs, maybe even follow them with his teeth until those wide eyes were focused on _him_ with the same wonder that they’d looked around this room with. He wanted to see that embarrassed blush again, the one that had dusted sweetly across his face when he’d noticed Crowley’s staring. _Damn it_.

He flinched sideways when something tried to poke him in the eye. Turns out it was just the make-up artist with an eyeliner pencil.

“What’s the matter with you?” Anathema snapped at him. “I did tell you that we need more eyeliner. It’s not showing up very well with the extra lights.” She brandished her camera at him threateningly.

Crowley huffed dramatically but stood still all the same so that the white-haired make-up artist, known professionally as Pollution, could drag the pencil along his lower eyelids.

“Much better,” Anathema declared and started taking pictures again.

Crowley lounged against one of the fake trees and aimed a sultry expression at the camera. He brushed the red extensions in his hair so that they were cascading over his shoulder and tilted his hips seductively. Crowley shifted fluidly into more poses, added a cheeky lip bite in here and there and finished off with lifting his robe mischievously to show the camera his boots. If a bit of leg managed to peak out, well that was just an accident.

“Lovely Crowley, as always.” Anathema declared after a few more snaps. “I think we’ve got everything, you're good to go.”

Crowley gave her a small nod and left the smoke filled area with relief. The seamstress, Mary Loquacious, was waiting to help him out of his clothes. The robe/dress-like garment he was wearing had literally been sewn onto his thin frame so Mary spent a good ten minutes unpicking the various threads. Crowley was content to sit silently and let his eyes drift closed while Mary chattered to the other seamstresses about the fashion predictions for the upcoming season. Apparently Mary had spoken to the new designer and he’d let slip a few of the guidelines that head office had given him.

“And he was such a nice man too,” Mary continued. “Nothing at all like some of the other designers who think they’re holier than the rest of us just for working on the upper floors. Although,” Mary let out little chuckle. “He was dressed a bit funny for someone working in high fashion. He had a bowtie and everything.”

Crowley’s eyes popped open. So bowtie man did work here and Crowley would be able to see him again. Crowley mentally slammed on brakes, feeling pathetic. All this man had to do was walk in, looking so different to all the people Crowley was usually surrounded by, gaze around Crowley's world like it was magical, spare him a backwards glance and Crowley’s heart would stutter at the promise of glimpsing him again? Pathetic indeed.

So no, Crowley decided right there and then as Mary finally freed him from the material, he was not going to find excuses to bump into this man. In fact he was going to avoid the whole “idea level” of this building like it was the plague. No more metaphorical falling for him!

Crowley pulled on his skinny jeans and grey top, pleased with his resolution. A resolution that would begin as soon as he’d found out one more thing.

“What did you say the new designers name was?” He asked Mary in an offhand sort of way.

“Aziraphale. Have you heard of him?”

“Nope,” He replied, popping the p dismissively.

War, a woman with red hair to rival his own, began removing his hair extensions and make-up while Beelzebub, the model manager, took advantage of his stationary state to give Crowley a run down on his photoshoots for the next week and a customary lecture.

“I don’t want to see anything about you on twitter this week!” They said menacingly. “Fashion week is just around the corner, can we try and go seven whole days without someone managing to get a picture of you throwing up outside a club?”

“It was one time!” He protested weakly. “And it wasn't my fault. Am I to blame that they’d given us more shots than we paid for?”

Beelzebub ignored him.

“Well thats you done,” War said giving his face one last swipe with the make-up wipe and moving over to where Hastur was waiting, clearly trying very hard not to pick at the prosthetic make-up on his face.

Crowley groaned and massaged his scalp, those extensions were a bitch. He shrugged his jacket on and retreated behind his glasses. Crowley quickly swiped up his car keys before someone found a reason for him to stay here longer.

“Ciao.” He sauntered in the direction of the buildings entrance.

“Ten am tomorrow Crowley!” Beelzebub yelled after him. “Don’t be late! Again!”

Crowley turned and saluted mockingly at them before leaving the building completely. If he stopped for a brief moment to glance up at the windows of the “Idea level” well then no one had to know.

_Aziraphale._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that has read, left kudos and commented so far! I had to split this chapter in two because i felt it was getting a bit long. The next one will be from Crowley's POV. Hope you enjoy!

It was Friday, five whole days since Aziraphale had started working at HVN and he was very pleased with how things were going. He was particularly thrilled with the fifteen design sketches currently spread across his worktable, each one perfectly drawn and finished off with a few meticulously attached fabric samples. In a short while they’d be neatly gathered up and sent to Gabriel, who would then begin choosing pieces that would go into production for New York fashion week. While the designs were not at all the sort of clothing he’d wear, Aziraphale had chosen sketches with strong sportswear influences that suited New Yorks focus on athleisure. Hopefully Gabriel would find a few suitable and appealing enough to choose. 

Ten minutes later there was a collective sigh of relief as everyone handed in their designs. Sixty prospective outfit ideas were now safely in Gabriel’s hands, ready to be meticulously examined. Only twenty-five of them would be sent to Michael, head of the sales department, for additional market research. If the designs got the go ahead from marketing they get sent to the seamstresses who will make the actual design. If some of Aziraphale’s make it through (and he’s so hoping they do) he’ll be doing the final step of making any adjustments and fitting the piece properly on the model chosen to wear it on the runway.

Aziraphale did little wiggle of happiness in his chair at the idea of seeing his designs being walked down a runway in New York for hundreds of people to see. Tens of thousands actually, if one considered the live-stream audience, which Aziraphale supposed he should despite his general reluctance to make use of newer technologies.

“What do you say to having a bit of a celebration?” Tracey asked, grinning from her table.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows wearily. A week of working with the woman had taught him to exercise caution when agreeing to join in on her proposed activities. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get the smell of that bacon-scented candle out of his favourite jacket and Tracey’s attempt on Wednesday to contact Versace’s ghost had been a complete failure anyway. Aziraphale didn't even want to think about how much glitter he still had in his hair from yesterday after being roped into trying on a hat Tracey had made for Shadwell’s upcoming birthday.

“No need to look so alarmed my dear.” Tracey sweetly, as if Aziraphale had not spent over an hour last night trying to get glitter out his ears. “I was only going to suggest we go out for lunch. To that nice little coffee shop just across the road.”

“That does sound surprisingly lovely.” Aziraphale admitted. “Alright then, lets go and celebrate.”

“I’ll just let Shadwell know where to meet us.”

Aziraphale supposed it would be rude to take back his decision.

The coffee shop might be Aziraphale’s new favourite place. The chairs were comfy and the room was suffused in the rich smells of coffee and freshly baked muffins. There were so many delicious looking baked goods behind the glass displays that Aziraphale changed his mind three times before deciding on a croissant with custard filling, garnished with cherries and a light dusting of icing sugar. His usual tea was ordered too of course.

The waitress left to give the kitchen their order and Aziraphale and Tracey swapped theories on which of their designs would be approved for New York.

“I might have gone a bit far with the transparent cycling shorts,” Tracey admitted, as their drinks arrived.

Aziraphale choked on his first sip. “Transparent shorts? Completely see through?” He spluttered.

“Well, not completely. The crotch part that would be padded in shorts, the ones you would actually cycle in, isn’t see through.”

Not that Aziraphale ever wore the in-fashion tights inspired by cycling shorts, let alone ones to actually get on a bicycle with, from what he knew of them they still wouldn't be remotely modest with solid material in the padded area.

Tracey’s partner, Shadwell joined them not long later, loudly complaining about camping tent he had taken two hours to erect only to be told that the photoshoot was just going to be needing a camp fire, all the while adding nine sugars into the tea that Tracey had ordered him.

“I mean honestly,” He continued, stirring his tea and tapping his teaspoon excessively on the cups rim. “Does that photographer think people will know that the models are supposed to be camping if theres only a campfire? There has to be a tent! Where are they planning on sleeping after they’ve roasted all their marshmellows?”

Tracey tutted sympathetically and Aziraphale tried to look like he cared. Truthfully he didn't much like Shadwell, finding him constantly abrasive. It wasn't helped by the fact he knew the man referred to him as a Southern Pansy when he thought Aziraphale was out of earshot. The pansy part was also a tad narrow-minded for someone who worked in fashion.

“Crowley dear!” Tracey exclaimed suddenly, her sleeve nearly upending the table’s decorative flower vase as she waved wildly.

Aziraphale looked around so fast he might have given himself whipash. Sure enough, there was the lanky red head, leaning against the counter as if he were doing a photoshoot instead of ordering a drink.

“Come and join us, I insist.” Tracey patted the open chair at their table, ignoring Shadwell’s loud grumble of protest.

Crowley met Aziraphales eyes briefly before gesturing in the vague direction of the coffee machines. “I’ve ordered my drink to go I’m afraid.”

“I haven't poured it yet.” The barista told him. “You can go ahead and join your friends, I’ll bring it over in a bit.”

Crowley’s mouth formed the beginning of several words before settling on, “How kind,” and he gave the exit a wistful look before joining them at the table. Aziraphale hoped the Crowley hadn’t heard Shadwell muttering, “We’re hardly his friends.” or seen Tracey elbow him in retaliation. Crowley made himself comfortable, stretching his long legs out in different directions and hooking one arm over the back of his chair.

“Crowley, have you met Aziraphale?” Madam Tracey asked. “He’s working up on the idea level with me.”

“I have not actually,” Crowley drawled, shifting slightly to face Aziraphale and extending his hand.

Aziraphale shook it, “I’ve seen you around though. I watched a bit of the shoot on Monday.”

Crowley grinned wolfishly, “I know.”

Aziraphale blushed and took a sip of his tea just so that he could do something with his hands. “The lights were lovely.”

“Well it was certainly a better shoot than the one today,” Crowley replied, his sole attention finally leaving Aziraphale as the waitress put down his coffee. A hint of mischief coloured his voice, “The camping shoot today was a total cock up, wouldn’t you agree Shadwell?”

The scotsman began his earlier tent tirade all over again, just louder and more embellished this time. Crowley sent Aziraphale an amused smirk and Aziraphale had to hide his answering smile behind a napkin.

The arrival of lunch put an end to Shadwell’s tirade and a blissful calm fell over the whole coffee shop as the man began chomping down his chips. Aziraphale’s croissant looked absolutely scrumptious and he was about to take his first bite when he noticed Crowley, who had been watching Shadwell’s ranting slumped in his chair with an amused expression, hadn't ordered food.

“I can call the waitress over again.” Aziraphale offered, pushing a menu over to Crowley.

“No, thank you.” Crowley ignored the offered menu and cradled his mug, staring into the liquid intently.

“You can have half of mine then.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley sighed, exasperated. 

Aziraphale felt a swooping in his stomach hearing Crowley say his name. Aziraphale hastily blocked out any other accompanying thoughts, particularly those that were unhelpfully providing other ways that he could get his name to fall from Crowley’s mouth.

“In just over three weeks we’ll be heading to New York,” Crowley was explaining. “I really can’t risk gaining any weight. As you know, runway outfits are hardly adjustable once the final fitting has been done.”

Aziraphale did know. The outfits that were going to be seen on the runway were not made for any any body type that wasn’t “very thin.” They could always be made smaller but never bigger. Aziraphale couldn't honestly say that he’d dined out with models much, so he’d never really considered their eating habits or the lengths they went to in order to stay lean. He looked guiltily down at his food and considered pushing his plate away. 

Crowley seemed to read his mind, “Oh no. That won’t do anyone any good.” He tried to meet Aziraphale’s downcast eyes. “I’m used to it, honestly. Besides, I’ve never been much of a food person, not really. Thin as a rake since the first picture my parents ever took of me, possibly even before I just don’t have photo proof.”

Aziraphale contemplated his croissant for a little while longer, feeling a bit silly, like he’d made a little bit too much of a fuss to just start eating like usual. Crowley made an impatient noise, leant over and used his coffee spoon to steal the cherry from the top of Aziraphale’s croissant.

“Hey! That’s my favourite part!” Aziraphale protested, the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth severely undermining his stern voice.

Crowley smirked while chewing, “You snooze you lose.”

Any lingering awkwardness banished, Aziraphale started on his food. The custard filling was the most scrumptious he had ever tasted and couldn't help a small groan of appreciation at the first bite. Crowley glanced at him in surprise but quickly looked back down at his mug, ears turning red. Aziraphale made sure not to make any more sounds after that in case Crowley was one of those people that disliked noisy eaters.

“You’re coming tomorrow, aren’t you Aziraphale?” Tracey suddenly asked.

“Sorry, where?”

Tracey tutted, “The antique weapons display. Remember I told you about it? Shadwell here has been looking forward to it since he first saw the fliers, haven’t you dear?”

“Aye.” Shadwell brandished his fork. “You’ll get a chance to see real weapons! It’ll put those knitting needles you pansy’s like to use to shame!”

Aziraphale saw Crowley level a dark look at Shadwell. He felt the need to apologise for their lunch companions abrasiveness but then realised that Crowley was the one that worked with him nearly everyday and probably wasn't surprised.

“Unfortunately I won’t be able to make it,” Aziraphale said, trying his very best to sound apologetic. “I’m headed to Tadfield tomorrow. I left my second best sewing machine there when I moved last month. There’s also a box of my portfolios, I was hoping to have a look through them since work for London fashion week will start on Monday.”

“You can’t take a sewing machine and box of portfolios on the bus.” Tracey said firmly. “If you wait till Sunday I can drive you there. Then you won’t miss out on the weapons either!”

Aziraphale spluttered and took a hasty sip of tea to give himself a chance to come up with a polite excuse.

“I can drive you.” 

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. The red haired man was still addressing his mug but his offer did seem directed at Aziraphale.

“Oh, I wouldn't want to be a bother.”

“No bother at all,” Crowley lounged back in his chair. “It’ll be nice to get out of the city for a bit.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, hoping his expression didn't betray how taken aback he was by Crowley’s offer.

Tracey and Shadwell weren’t even trying to hide their surprise. Both of them stared, openmouthed and wide eyed, at Crowley as if he had grown a second head. The model ignored them and drained the rest of his coffee. Aziraphlae took another bite of food for lack of a better thing to do.

“I should be heading out,” Crowley declared moments later. He put a couple of notes on the table, far more than was needed to pay for a single coffee, and handed Aziraphale a card. “My number. Text me your address.” He stood up and smirked at the other two, “Have a wonderful day at your antique thing.” He sent a mischievous wink Aziraphale’s way, “See you tomorrow.” His saunter out the shop must surely have been something he’d learnt for the runway.

Shadwell snorted dismissively, “Models.” He carried on eating as if his statement explained everything.

“That was ever so unusual,” Tracey commented. “Aziraphale sweetheart, are you alright?”

Aziraphale, who had gone rather red after Crowley’s wink, stared at the card with a sense of growing panic. “I need to buy a mobile phone before tomorrow.”


End file.
